


if you let me, I'll love you a little

by laallomri



Series: klance oneshot collections [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Miraculous Ladybug AU, Rating for Language, canonverse, first chapter has a table of contents so you can know which oneshot is what AU, oneshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 16:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17328191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laallomri/pseuds/laallomri
Summary: Keith has a problem.He loves his boyfriend, so much he can barely stand it, but he can’t—fucking—say it.(“Good morning, babe,” Lance says around his toothbrush as Keith shuffles into the bathroom.Keith looks at him and wonders how someone can look so adorable with their hair sticking up in the back and toothpaste foam all over their mouth.“Ahlufyeh,” he says.Lance’s brow crinkles. Keith panics and clears his throat.“Sorry,” he says. “My voice is kind of hoarse. Good morning.”)collection of small fics I wrote forthese 'ways to say I love you' promptsfrom twitter





	1. table of contents

**Author's Note:**

> I posted these to tumblr and twitter ages ago and thought I'd post them here to save them. it's possible some of these might become longer fics, but no guarantees
> 
> as usual, I've changed lance's eyes to brown because I Do What I Want
> 
> oh also I wrote these before we knew about romelle or adam so alas there is no background romellura or adashi in these
> 
> collection title is a lyric from Tera Chehra, a song by Adnan Sami

chapter one - table of contents

chapter two - "loud, so everyone can hear" - canonverse, established relationship

chapter three - "a taunt, with with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips" - established relationship, set after my s5 fics, though you don’t really have to read it to understand it

chapter four - "through a song" - post-war, established relationship, living in an apartment together when they visit earth

chapter five - "from very far away" - college au, junior (3rd) year, established relationship

chapter six - "with no space left between us" - college au, junior (3rd) year, established relationship

chapter seven - "in awe, the first time you realized it" - miraculous ladybug au, ladybug!lance and chat noir!keith


	2. loud so everyone can hear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> canonverse, established relationship

Keith has a problem.  
  
He loves his boyfriend, so much he can barely stand it, but he can’t—fucking—say it.  
  
(“Good morning, babe,” Lance says around his toothbrush as Keith shuffles into the bathroom.  
  
Keith looks at him and wonders how someone can look so adorable with their hair sticking up in the back and toothpaste foam all over their mouth.  
  
“Ahlufyeh,” he says.  
  
Lance’s brow crinkles. Keith panics and clears his throat.  
  
“Sorry,” he says. “My voice is kind of hoarse. Good morning.”)  
  
(“Sharp work, samurai!” Lance cries after a battle, as they tumble out of their lions and run towards each other.  
  
Keith jumps into his arms; Lance catches him, laughing a little, and Keith puts his hands on his shoulders, and wonders how someone can look so wonderful with dirt and sweat all over their face.  
  
“Ahluvy,” he says.  
  
Lance blinks. Keith coughs.  
  
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, and Lance smiles.  
  
“Me, too,” he says. “Let’s go clean up, I feel gross.”)  
  
He doesn’t know why he can’t say it. The words are there, in his head and his heart, clear and certain and articulate, but somewhere on the way to his mouth they get garbled by his twisting stomach and the cold fear in his chest. Consciously he knows it’s dumb to be worried, that Lance loves him even if they haven’t actually said it to each other yet, but it’s still hard to convince himself to not be scared.  
  
When he’s alone he practices.  
  
(“Lance,” he says to the training bot as it tries to slice him in half, “I have to tell you something. I love you.”)  
  
(“Hey sharpshooter,” he says to the food goo machine as he gets a midnight snack, “nice shot. I love you.”)  
  
(“Of all the princes in the land,” he says aloud in his room, reading the confession scene from a romance novel Hunk lent to him, “you are the kindest and handsomest, and my love belongs to you.”)  
  
It works then—then he is firm, and confident, and the words come out with little difficulty. But then he looks into Lance’s eyes, or holds Lance’s hand, or kisses Lance’s mouth, and suddenly it’s not so easy, suddenly his brain is giving him dumb scenarios like _he thinks it’s too soon to say something like that_ and _he thinks you’re pathetic and desperate_ and _he breaks up with you cause he thinks you’re going too fast_.  
  
Dumb. Very dumb. But also very convincing, so Keith is stuck struggling against the terror that spikes through him whenever he tries to say it, stuck mumbling or stammering.  
  
But then—he finds a loophole.  
  
(“I don’t know how I feel about this,” Lance says, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. He tugs at the collar of the Altean dress shirt. “It makes my shoulders look too big.”  
  
“That’s not the shirt,” Keith says from his perch on the bed. He’s lying on it sideways, feet pressed flat to the wall and head hanging off the edge. “That’s just cause you’re jacked as fuck.”  
  
Lance’s ears turn promptly red. Keith grins.  
  
“What’s the matter, sharpshooter?” he asks.  
  
Lance groans. Keith sees him cover his face in the mirror. He gets up and goes over to Lance, kissing the tip of his ear.  
  
“I love how easy it is to make you blush,” he says. “I gotta go change now.”  
  
“I’ll get back at you!” Lance shouts after him as he walks out of the room. “I’m gonna make your face burn!”  
  
Keith just laughs.)  
  
(“Mr Red Paladin?” says the small alien child, tugging on Lance’s pant leg. “I have a question.”  
  
Lance looks down at them and beams, crouching down so the child’s three eyes are level with his. “Sure, buddy! What’s your name?”  
  
“Yapri.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Yapri, I’m Lance.” Lance shakes Yapri’s tiny six fingered hand. “What’s your question?”  
  
“What does Mr Red Lion sound like?” Yapri asks. It’s getting easier for Keith to gauge alien species’ ages; he thinks Yapri might be around seven, which probably explains the weird form of address. “Is he nice?”  
  
“He’s very nice,” Lance confirms. “Would you like to meet him?”  
  
Yapri’s eyes light up, quite literally—it’s almost like someone’s turned on an electric light behind their pupils. They nod enthusiastically and Lance stands.  
  
“All right, then let’s go!” He gestures at Keith. “Is it okay if my friend Keith comes, too? He used to pilot Red so he can help me show you around.”  
  
Yapri nods again and together the three head outside of the palace and go to Red. For the next quarter varga Lance answers all of Yapri’s excited questions, acts as translator between them and Red, asks Red to rumble so Yapri can hear him, and even lets Yapri go inside the lion and push a couple of the less dangerous buttons.  
  
Afterward they walk Yapri back to the palace, and Keith slides his hand into Lance’s.  
  
“I love how good you are with kids,” he says.  
  
“I’m used to them,” Lance says. “I have a ton of little cousins and nieces and nephews.”  
  
Keith squeezes his hand and doesn’t let go for the rest of the evening.)  
  
It’s not as good as saying _I love you_ , but Keith will take what he can get until his mouth decides to cooperate. He has a horrible feeling it might take something drastic for his terror to go away, something like one of them getting injured, or a battle doing badly, and that’s really fucking annoying because he really really really doesn’t want to have to wait until one of them almost dies to tell Lance that he loves him.  
  
And then—and then one night they’re sitting in the lounge, squished together on one of the couches as Lance shows him pictures of his family on his phone. The others are scattered about the room; Pidge, Hunk, and Coran are using the table to play some kind of death mode version of rummy with Altean playing cards that make loud explosion sounds whenever anyone uses them, Shiro is taking a nap on the other couch despite all the noise, with the space mice snoozing in a huddle atop his stomach, and Allura is sitting on the floor reading a novel.  
  
Hunk and Pidge had just figured out how to charge their earth phones, so Lance had just gotten the chance to see his family’s photos again, and he’d immediately pulled Keith aside to show him.  
  
“This is Luis,” he says, pointing a guy who looks like an older version of Lance, though he doesn’t have as many freckles. “And this is Sylvio, his son. My nephew. He just turned—oh wait, no.” Lance deflates. “I was gonna say he just turned four but I guess he’d be—five? Maybe already six?”  
  
He’s quiet for a moment. Keith squeezes his hand and swipes to the next photo.  
  
“Who’s this?”  
  
“Abuelitaaaaaaaa!” Lance exclaims, brightening. “My grandma. She’s my favorite person in the entire universe. She’s really funny and she’s my best friend, tied with Hunk and you. She watches a lot of soap operas and she always loves the brooding young man characters so she’ll definitely like you.”  
  
Keith pokes his arm for the comment—then freezes.  
  
“Like me?” he repeats.  
  
“Yeah,” Lance says. “You’re exactly her type. All dark and broody. Though she might try to make you cut your hair.”  
  
“Wait—” Keith breaks off, confused. “When would I meet her?”  
  
“When we go back to earth,” Lance says, as if explaining something very simple. “We’re gonna go back eventually, right? And you’ll get to meet everyone!”  
  
Keith opens his mouth, closes it. He hadn’t thought—he knows Lance likes him, likes him a lot, but he’d never thought—that he would—take him home—would introduce him to his family—like this is a real thing, a permanent thing, like being with Keith is something he’s proud of, and isn’t ashamed to show off.  
  
No one’s ever asked him to their home before. Not even when he was little, for sleepovers or whatever the hell normal kids did. But here is someone asking him now, someone who cares for him, and wants him in their home, with their family, someone who loves him—  
  
Keith hears it come out of his mouth rather than feels it, as if it’s spoken by another person. “Ehluvu.”  
  
Lance’s brow furrows. “What?”  
  
“Ahlovye,” Keith tries again, but again his throat sticks.  
  
Lance blinks. “Are you okay?” he asks, sounding concerned. “Are you tired? We can go to sleep.”  
  
Keith scowls. He clenches his fists in his lap, musters up all the strength he has, channels all the energy he uses in battles, when he’s flying, when he’s slicing sentries. He once tried to fight fucking Zarkon on his own, he—can—say—this.  
  
“I LOVE YOU,” he all but shouts.  
  
Hunk, Pidge, and Coran all look up from their game. Allura drops her book. Shiro opens one eye and squints at him. One of the mice stands up on Shiro’s stomach and goggles at Keith.  
  
Lance just stares at him.  
  
“Um,” Keith says, feeling his face heat. “I have to—go—”  
  
He starts to get up, but Lance tugs at his arm, so he sits down again, shrinking back into the couch.  
  
“Stop staring, you weirdos,” Lance scolds the others. “This is a private moment.”  
  
“He literally shouted,” Pidge points out.  
  
“And you’re literally three feet tall,” Lance says, though there’s no bite to it. Pidge sticks her tongue out at him anyway. “Go back to what you were doing.”  
  
They all obey, though Keith is pretty sure Allura is peeking over her book, and Shiro’s snoring sounds suspiciously fake, and the card players are moving way too slowly, as if trying to eavesdrop over the noise of them playing. Keith ignores him as best he can and looks at Lance, who’s smiling so widely his heart trips.  
  
“Can you say it again?” Lance asks, speaking softly so the others can’t overhear as easily. “I want to answer you properly this time.”  
  
“I—I love you,” Keith says, and there’s still that spike of fear shooting through his chest but it’s softer now, tempered by the fact that he’s gotten through saying it twice now.  
  
Lance’s eyes sparkle, bright and brown and crinkly at the edges from his smile.  
  
“I love you too,” he says. He takes Keith’s hands in his and kisses them. “I love you so much.”  
  
Keith smiles back, watches as Lance kisses his hands again, two, three, four times, and not even Pidge’s not-so-sneaky _aw_ can embarrass him, not when his heart is bursting out of his chest.

 


	3. a taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, set after my s5 fics, though you don’t really have to read it to understand this

Keith keeps the blade suit.  
  
He doesn’t wear it—as soon as he’d changed into his usual clothes he’d folded up the suit and put it in the back of his closet—but he wants to keep it around, sort of as a reminder for what he’d went through, a reminder of what a stupid decision it was to leave and how he shouldn’t ever do it again.  
  
(Though he can’t say it was all terrible. He found Krolia, and he’s still friends with Madat, who also left the blade recently to go work with the freedom fighters instead, and he has a feeling that he and Lance wouldn’t have gotten together if he’d been on the castle ship. But it still fucking sucked to work there, and he doesn’t ever want to fall into the trap of doing it again.)  
  
It stays in the back of his closet for several weeks after his return, and he expects it’ll stay there indefinitely, until—  
  
“PIDGE.”  
  
“Sorry!” Pidge squeals, frantically wiping off Keith’s jacket. “Sorry, sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going—”  
  
Keith sighs and pokes her hand so she’ll stop trying to clean his sleeve. The beaker she’d been holding when she tripped contained some kind of thick green liquid, which had sprayed out and all over Keith’s pants and jacket and the front of his shirt.  
  
“It’s not toxic,” Pidge assures him, clutching the beaker anxiously and watching him try to wipe the solution off his shirt. “It’s for cleaning Green’s control panel. It’ll wash out super easy in the laundry, I promise.”  
  
How could something designed to clean be so fucking messy? “It’s okay,” Keith says. “Laundry day’s tomorrow anyway. I can just find something else to wear until then.”

.^.  
  
Or not.  
  
“It’s the day before laundry day, man,” Hunk says. “I’m all out of clothes. I’ve been wearing these socks for three days now.”  
  
“Gross,” Lance says, as Keith says, “Only three?”  
  
They look at each other.  
  
“I can’t believe I’m dating you,” Lance mutters.  
  
Coran offers some old Altean clothes he found in a spare room, but they aren’t the most comfortable garments, and they’re musty from being in a trunk for ten thousand years, so Keith turns them down. He considers asking Lance if he can maybe borrow either his shirt or his hoodie, but that means whoever wears the hoodie would either have to zip it up, which would be uncomfortably hot in the castle ship, or leave it unzipped and expose their undershirt, which might make Allura and Pidge uncomfortable. Plus that doesn’t solve the problem of finding clean pants. And they can’t do the laundry early, because last time there’d been an issue with the machine, and Hunk had had to take it apart for maintenance, and even if he did nothing but work on it now it’d still take several hours before it’d be fully repaired.  
  
So his only option is the blade suit.  
  
“You don’t have to wear that,” Lance says, as Keith takes it out of the closet. “I’m pretty good at sewing. I can make you an outfit out of sheets or something.”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Keith says, even as his stomach roils at the thought of being back in the suit. “It’s just for a little while.”  
  
Lance’s mouth is twisted as he watches Keith shake out the fabric, but he says, “Fine. But if you feel weird tell me right away and we’ll figure something else out.”  
  
“Okay,” Keith agrees, then, “Now turn around.”  
  
“So _modest_ ,” Lance teases, turning to face the wall. “What a decent upstanding young man.”  
  
“Stop,” Keith says, though there’s no bite to it. He changes quickly—it feels wrong to be in the suit, very wrong, but it’s only for a little while so he thinks he’ll be fine—then balls up his dirty clothes and puts them in the laundry chute.  
  
The rest of the day is uncomfortable, to say the least. Keith keeps telling himself it’s temporary, that he’ll be out of the suit in a few hours when Hunk’s fixed the laundry machine, but that doesn’t stop him from fidgeting, from pulling at the sleeves, from being more quiet than usual at lunchtime, because his brain keeps whispering things like _left your friends_ and _left people behind_ and _got left behind_ and _almost died_. Lance doesn’t leave his side the whole day, talks and talks and talks as if trying to force out Keith’s bad memories with his voice, but Keith still feels like he’s sinking into the suit, until—  
  
“You know what?” Lance announces, as Keith comes back into the lounge after using the bathroom. “There’s one good thing about you being in this suit again.”  
  
Keith blinks at him. “There is?”  
  
Lance nods. He gets up from the couch, then flicks up his hood and throws up peace signs.  
  
“Hoodie kisses,” he says dramatically.  
  
“Oh my god,” Pidge says from her perch on the arm of the other couch, as Allura giggles. “You’re such a dork.”  
  
He is a dork, but he’s Keith’s dork, so Keith flicks up his hood too. Lance gasps, putting a hand to his heart.  
  
“Beautiful!” he declares. “Beautiful, handsome, adorable, showstopping, _incredible_!” He drops his hand. “Now come here.”  
  
“No,” says Keith, deadpan.  
  
Pidge and Allura both snicker. Lance sticks out his tongue at him.  
  
“Rude,” he says. “Then I’ll just come to you.”  
  
He crosses the room mock-stealthily, sliding from side to side, ducking up and down, stopping midway to peer around suspiciously, all the while humming—  
  
“Is that—” Keith breaks off, laughing. “Is that Mission Impossible?”  
  
Lance nods.   
  
“Go away,” Keith says, still laughing. He takes a couple steps back, towards the door. “I don’t want to kiss you anymore.”  
  
“Babe, no!”  
  
“I don’t kiss action movie bros,” Keith says.  
  
Lance pouts. “But I love you!”  
  
(he’s heard it dozens of times by now, raspy in the morning and soft at night, quick when they reunite after a mission and slow when they kiss, and still—still—Keith’s stomach flips, and his face heats, and his heart jumps before settling, content)  
  
Lance must notice the pink tinge to Keith’s nose, because he raises an eyebrow, his grin almost a smirk as he comes up close to Keith, leaning in.  
  
“I love you,” he says again, and it’s cheeky but it’s also low, and deep, and Keith really wants to kiss that half-grin half-smirk off his face.  
  
“I love you too, you doofus,” he says.  
  
“So sweet,” Allura coos from over by the couch.   
  
Lance cups Keith’s cheek. “Is it okay in front of them?” he asks, quiet enough that they won’t hear.  
  
“Yeah,” Keith says. “They won’t be able to see anyway cause of these.” He touches his hood, then Lance’s. “Hoodie kisses.”  
  
“Hoodie kisses,” Lance agrees.  
  
Keith tips his face up and kisses him. Lance’s hands are gentle and his lips are soft, and even though it still really sucks to have to wear this suit again, it’s okay, because Keith has Lance, Lance with his chatter and jokes and kisses, and so long as he has him, Keith can face anything.

 


	4. through a song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post-war, established relationship, living in an apartment together when they visit earth
> 
> warning for references to depression

The second Lance is through the door Keith knows he’s had a Bad Day.  
  
He turns down the radio playing from atop the counter, enough so he can hear Lance’s quiet “I’m home” over it, can hear him dump his backpack on the floor and shuffle past the kitchen to the bathroom. Keith stays by the stove, stirring the pot of pasta he’s making for their dinner; he knows Lance needs a few minutes to himself before any comfort would be welcome. It’s not the exhaustion of giving too many tours to children at the Air and Space museum, but something harder to pin down, something that they all deal with sometimes, after so many years of constant battles and stress and paranoia, something that’s sad and tired and bone-deep. It’s something that needs quiet, not loud questions or intrusive efforts to make him feel better.  
  
It was almost unbearably hot earlier today, but now that the sun is setting their small apartment is starting to cool, aided by the ceiling fan swishing round and round. Keith reties his ponytail so the stray hairs that have escaped in the past few hours won’t trail along his neck, then sticks one hand in the pocket of his basketball shorts, humming along to the song playing on the radio, an old one that he half remembers his dad listening to years and years ago.  
  
Lance comes into the kitchen. Without speaking he comes up behind Keith, wraps his arms around him, and tucks his face into the crook of Keith’s neck. Keith puts his hands over Lance’s on his waist.  
  
“You okay?” he asks.   
  
Lance makes a noise, something that’s _mm_ and _hmph_.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
Same noise.  
  
“That’s okay,” Keith says. “Do you want me to talk?”  
  
Another noise, this one _hm_ and _yeh_ , so Keith starts to talk, tells him about Allura’s call (she told him that Hunk had just introduced her to a wondrous substance called _Nutella_ , and that she would be purchasing eight tons of it to take back to the castle ship); about the terrible coffee he’d drunk that morning (they’d bought the cheapest brand possible, but he hadn’t thought it was _that_ cheap); about the bunny he saw on his walk to the mechanic, where he works part-time (it turns out having defended the universe doesn’t get you free rent, so he and Lance find small jobs to make their expenses when they visit earth in between exploring the universe together). As he talks he supervises the stove, moving carefully so he doesn’t dislodge Lance while maneuvering the pot and spoon.  
  
“We’ve still got a few minutes before it’s done,” Keith tells him. “Shiro’s the one who gave me the sauce recipe. But don’t worry. I don’t think it’s his recipes that are bad, just his execution of them.”  
  
He feels a huff of air against his neck, a bit like a laugh. He smiles and turns in Lance’s arms. Lance leans forward, leaning his forehead on Keith’s, and closes his eyes.  
  
“Is that Spanish?” he asks, his voice raspy from disuse.  
  
Keith blinks before he hears the strains of the radio. He leans over and turns up the volume a little, enough that they can hear the words better but not so much that it disturbs their circle of calm. The sun is fully set now and the only light on is the tiny one above the stove; the rest of the apartment is cool and dark, blue-black and peaceful. The kitchen is right next to the living room, so Keith can see the living room windows, can see the stars starting to become visible, stars they’ve flown through a thousand times and more.  
  
He listens to the song. His Spanish isn’t fantastic, but he’s been learning more of it so he can communicate better with the older members of Lance’s family and so Lance can use it at home if he wants to. The song is slow, crooning, the accent too unfamiliar for Keith to understand it completely, though he does know it’s a romantic song, and he recognizes the I love yous in it.  
  
“Come on,” he whispers, unwilling to speak louder and break the gentle spell around them. “You wanna dance?”  
  
Lance opens his eyes, the corner of his mouth crooking up. He takes a step away from the counter so they’ll have room to move, and together they sway back and forth in time to the song.  
  
“Do you know this song?” Keith asks, still whispering.  
  
Lance nods. He closes his eyes again, rests his forehead on Keith’s again. “My mami listens to it a lot. She says it’s the first song she and my papi ever danced to.”  
  
“It’s pretty,” Keith says.  
  
They sway back and forth for the duration of the song, content to be close without speaking. When the song ends the radio is quiet for a few seconds, as if it knows they need a moment to themselves.  
  
Keith tips his head up and kisses Lance’s mouth, soft and sweet.  
  
“I love you, baby,” he says, so low that he can barely hear it himself. “You know that, right?”  
  
Lance’s mouth crooks up at the corner once more. He opens his eyes; they glitter in the darkened apartment, bright and brown.  
  
“I know,” he says. “I love you, too.” He kisses Keith’s cheek. “I feel kinda better.”  
  
“I’m glad,” Keith says, grinning, “cause dinner’s almost done, and you should be fully prepared in case Shiro’s recipe turns out to be shit after all.”  
  
Lance chuckles. Keith slides out of his arms and over to the stove to plate the food; Lance stays close, slipping his hand into Keith’s as soon as it’s free.  
  
They take their plates into the living room and by the time they’re done remarking over how well the pasta turned out and roasting Shiro’s recipes vs. cooking skills, Lance is mostly back to his usual self. He’s still a bit subdued, and though Keith wishes he weren’t, he doesn’t mind it. He’s with Lance no matter what, and in a strange way he’s honored to be the one Lance trusts with his bad days, to be the one who can nudge him out of them.   
  
He does it for Lance, and inevitably Keith will have a day like this and Lance will nudge him out of it. They take care of each other, so they’ll be all right, no matter how many bad days come their way.

 


	5. from very far away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> college au, junior (3rd) year, established relationship

Keith’s phone is dead.  
  
Keith’s phone is dead, and he’s looked around this entire goddamn library for the past half hour but he can’t find a single goddamn socket that isn’t blocked up by those goddamn gigantic Mac chargers, and he really really _really_ needs a socket, because in less than five minutes Lance is going to call him, and both of them have so busy the past week, Lance adjusting to the classes he’s taking in Costa Rica this semester as part of his research on sea turtles and Keith increasingly deciding that coffee and Red Bull are acceptable replacements for sleep (“no,” Shiro had said, horrified, when Keith had mentioned this offhand, “no, they are not, what the fuck, Akira”), and they haven’t talked at all, and Keith is kind of dying, because despite what Shiro says it is one hundred percent possible for Keith to live without sleep, but living without talking to Lance is like living without oxygen.  
  
So he needs a stupid outlet so he can plug in his stupid phone and receive this stupid call to talk to his not-stupid-at-all-and-really-sweet boyfriend. But he can’t find an outlet, and he’s two seconds from swallowing his social anxiety and asking someone if their laptop is charged enough that they could let him plug in his phone just for a few minutes, when he spots Hunk hunched over a table at the back of the library.  
  
He breathes a sigh of relief and runs over. Hunk is going through a textbook and taking notes by hand like the nerd he is, which means his laptop is free, which means—  
  
“You can charge your phone in my laptop,” Hunk says, taking out his laptop and handing it over to Keith without looking up from his notes. “Take them to the first floor so you won’t disturb people with your talking. And tell Lance I said hi and that I’ll call him myself later.”  
  
“Thanks, dude, you’re a lifesaver,” Keith says. He tucks the laptop under his arm and runs out of the room and down the stairs, past the librarians’ desks, and out into the first-floor lobby. He sits on a bench by the door, plugs his phone into the laptop, and sees it flicker back to life with one minute to spare.  
  
“YES!” he shouts.  
  
“Shh,” says someone on a bench to his left.  
  
Keith starts to respond, but his phone is vibrating, so he picks up—and immediately holds it out away from his ear.  
  
“HIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!” Lance yells, and Keith’s heart bursts at the sound of it.  
  
“Shh,” says the same person, more irritated.   
  
Keith frowns at them, his delight marred by their attitude. “You shh!” he shoots back, then puts the phone to his ear.  
  
Lance is quiet.  
  
“Not you,” Keith clarifies, realizing what had just happened. “That was—someone was shushing us. You can keep yelling.”  
  
“Oh okay,” Lance says, and Keith hears the crackle of the phone as he takes in a deep breath, and then—  
  
“I MISS YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!” he shouts. “COSTA RICA IS AWESOME AND THE TURTLES ARE ADORABLE AND—  
  
“Can you please leave?” says the person again, extremely annoyed.  
  
“Oh my god, fine,” Keith says. “Hey, Lance—sorry—I gotta go outside the library, just give me a sec.”  
  
He awkwardly lifts up the laptop without unplugging the phone and shuffles outside. There’s a bench under a tree; he settles on it and puts the phone to his ear again.  
  
“Okay I’m back,” he says. “You can yell all you want now.”  
  
Lance does so, tells him about his classes and his research and his host family and the friends he’s already made and how nice it is to talk in Spanish most of the time, even if he has to get used to the accent. After a minute or so he goes from yelling-over-a-crowd volume to talking-loudly-in-a-noisy-restaurant volume. It’s still pretty loud, but Keith doesn’t mind at all, not when it means that Lance is this excited about his semester and his new friends and the chance to talk to Keith.  
  
Because he is. Keith knows half of Lance’s exuberance is because he’s getting to talk to him. It’s an odd feeling to think that someone would be so breathtakingly happy just to talk to _him_ , but Keith is getting more used to it, settling more and more comfortably into the feeling of being someone’s source of happiness.  
  
Lance asks how Keith is doing, so Keith updates him on what he and the others in their friend group have been up to.  
  
(“Not friend group,” Lance corrects, clicking his tongue. “The SQUAD.”  
  
“I am not calling it that,” Keith says, deadpan.  
  
“Coward,” Lance says, and even though Keith can’t see him he knows Lance is sticking out his tongue at the phone.)  
  
Before they know it an hour passes. Lance makes a weird noise, something between a wail and a groan.  
  
“I have to go,” he says dejectedly. “It’s almost dinner and I have to prepare for tomorrow’s class.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Keith says, though he’s reluctant to hang up. “We’ll talk again.”  
  
“Yes,” Lance says firmly, “and soon. None of this once a week nonsense.” He sighs. “I like being here but I miss you too much.”  
  
“I miss you too,” Keith says.  
  
“How far away is Chicago from here? I haven’t looked it up.”  
  
“I don’t know.” Keith clenches his fist in his lap, unclenches it. “It—it feels really far.”  
  
Lance sighs again. “It does,” he agrees. “Hey, I really have to go now, but we will definitely talk soon, okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Lance hesitates, then says, very quickly, “I love you.”  
  
Keith’s heart thuds.  
  
“I know it’s kind of soon,” Lance says, still talking very fast, “but I don’t know, you’re really far and I’m really happy to hear from you and—”  
  
“I love you, too,” Keith interrupts.  
  
He swears he can _feel_ the force of Lance’s smile through the phone when he speaks.  
  
“I love you more,” he says, then, “Okay for real I have to go now, I’ll talk to you later. Bye!”  
  
“Bye,” Keith says, then, hurriedly, “I love you most.”  
  
“Oh my god,” he hears Lance says, clearly flustered, and the line cuts.  
  
Keith clutches the phone in his hand for a moment, his heart warm. Then he unplugs the phone from the laptop and goes back into the library to return Hunk’s computer before he thinks he’s stolen it.

 


	6. with no space left between us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> college au, junior (3rd) year, established relationship

The stupid elevator is broken.  
  
Keith glares at the OUT OF ORDER THRU TOMORROW sign over the buttons. He should have known. Exams are finally over, the semester has ended, and after a whole week of studying and stressing he and Lance finally have time to see each other.  
  
So of course the elevator is broken. And of course Lance lives on the sixteenth floor.  
  
Keith blows out a frustrated breath and pulls out his phone.

**keith:** elevator’s broken

**sharpshooter:** wtf it was working this morning

**sharpshooter:** rude

**keith:** the sign says it won’t be fixed until tomorrow  
  
There’s a pause, then:

**sharpshooter:** ok i guess we can just meet up tomorrow

**sharpshooter:** i dont want to make you climb all those stairs  
  
The three dots pulse for a few more seconds, as if he’s going to send something else, but then they vanish. Keith frowns at his phone. He looks at the sign on the buttons, looks at his phone again. He thinks of the past week, of how the thought of getting to see Lance got him through the sleepless nights of studying, of how far away tomorrow seems when Lance is only sixteen floors away from him right now.  
  
He sets his jaw and types out his response.

**keith:** I’m coming anyway

**sharpshooter:** what

**sharpshooter:** keith no

**sharpshooter:** NO

**sharpshooter:** it’s 16 fckn floors babe n o

**keith:** too late I’m already in the stairwell

**sharpshooter:** oh my g od  
  
Keith puts his phone back in his pocket and starts up the stairs.

.^.  
  
Five floors later he realizes he has made a tactical error.  
  
“Why,” he pants, his voice echoing in the stairwell, “is it so fucking hot?”  
  
He leans against the wall on the fifth floor landing and catches his breath. Stairs aren’t a problem for him normally—he hadn’t expected to need to take a break until floor ten—but it feels like it’s a zillion degrees in the stairwell.  
  
After a minute or two he can breathe evenly again. He cracks his back and heads up the stairs again, pacing himself this time. When he reaches the ninth floor the door to the stairwell slams open.  
  
“What the fuck,” he splutters, stepping back.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Allura says, her hands flying to her mouth. “Are you all right?”  
  
“Yeah, it didn’t actually hit me,” he assures her. He blinks at her; she’s wearing running clothes, her long braids tied up in a ponytail. “Are you—going for a run?”  
  
Allura nods, beaming. “It’s quite nice outside and finals are over! I thought I should get some exercise in.”  
  
Keith stares at her. Part of him wants to ask how eight hundred million degrees with blazing sun is _quite nice_ and why the hell she would go for a run when she has to take nine flights of stairs back up to her apartment, but then he remembers that she once called a marathon a _fun little run_ , so he supposes this shouldn’t be a surprise.  
  
“Cool,” he says finally, making a mental note to google if invincible people exist.   
  
“Are you headed up to Lance’s apartment?” she asks.  
  
He nods.  
  
“How sweet!” she says, clasping her hands together. “Are you climbing all this way just to visit him?”  
  
Keith flushes. “Uh—yeah.”  
  
Allura makes the same face she does whenever they all watch those cheesy rom-coms she loves so much, the one where she looks like she might start squealing at any moment. “Tell him I said hello.”  
  
“I will,” Keith says, starting up the stairs again in case she really does start squealing. “Have fun on your run.”  
  
He runs up the flight as fast as he can, but he thinks he hears her squeal anyway.

.^.  
  
Floor twelve is where his legs start to feel dead.  
  
He stops halfway up the staircase, hunched over with one hand on the railing and the other resting on his knee. There’s sweat running down his neck and back; he lets go of the railing to run a hand through his hair and it sticks up everywhere, though the longer ends flop down over his forehead and the nape of his neck. He wishes he’d brought a hair tie; hopefully he’d find one at Lance’s place from the last time he visited. Half his belongings are there anyway by this point.  
  
He feels his phone buzz. He pulls it out and sees a text from Lance.

**sharpshooter:** r u still alive

**keith:** barely. your ac better be blasting

**sharpshooter:** u really dont have to do this

**keith:** yes I do I haven’t seen you in a week

**sharpshooter:** :O r u saying u……MISS me

**keith:** of course I miss you you’re my boyfriend

**sharpshooter:**  hhhhhh

**keith:** are you broken

**sharpshooter:** HURRY UP AND GET HERE I WANNA KISS UR FACE  
  
Well, that’s an incentive if he ever had one.  
  
Keith puts his phone away and runs up the next two flights of stairs without stopping.

.^.  
  
Floor fifteen.  
  
He’s so close.  
  
So close.  
  
But it’s so _hot_ and he’s so _tired_ and his shirt is sticking to him from how sweaty he is and he really can’t feel his legs anymore.  
  
But he really really wants to see Lance, so he grits his teeth and keeps going.  
  
He doesn’t climb up the last flight of stairs so much as drag himself; he pulls on the railing to try to give himself some momentum so his feet won’t have to do as much work. He stumbles onto the landing, yanks open the door after two tries because his hand is so sweaty it can’t turn the knob, then trips into the hallway and down to Lance’s door.  
  
He doesn’t bother with texting or knocking; he takes out the spare key Lance had given him when they started dating, fumbles with the lock, and bursts into the apartment.  
  
“Thank fuck,” he breathes, as he’s hit with a blast of cold air from the window unit.  
  
“Oh my god,” Lance says, laughing a little. He’s lying on his back on the rug next to the window and going through his phone, but as Keith kicks off his shoes and walks forward he puts his phone aside and holds out his arms. “I can’t believe you made it.”  
  
“Me neither,” Keith mumbles, and collapses on top of him, snug in the frame of his arms. Lance makes for a very comfortable pillow; Keith tucks his face in the crook of his neck, nuzzling it. He never wants to move again. “Mmph.”  
  
Lance runs his hand through Keith’s hair and makes a noise that’s somewhere between _ugh_ and _aw_. “You’re so sweaty. You must be exhausted.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Keith says, his voice muffled by Lance’s neck. “It was for love.”  
  
“My hero,” Lance says, and Keith can hear the smile in his voice. Lance shifts, careful not to dislodge Keith but enough that he can kiss the top of Keith’s head. “I love you.”  
  
Keith lifts his head up so he can look at Lance, resting his chin on Lance’s chest.  
  
“I love you too,” he says, and the warmth that curls through him is different from the horrible heat of the stairwell; this is softer, and more pleasant, and something he doesn’t want to ever go away. He drops his head down again, his cheek against the collar of Lance’s t-shirt. “But I think I love your air conditioning more.”  
  
Lance just laughs.


	7. in awe, the first time you realized it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> miraculous ladybug au, ladybug!lance and chat noir!keith. I've kept the ages from vld so they're the ages they are in s1/2, not the ages of the ML chars

Keith loves night patrols.  
  
It’s the only real opportunity he has to get out of his grandfather’s mansion without being monitored by the tracking device in his phone. All he has to do is put some pillows under the blankets on his bed, leave his phone in a drawer so the tracker will show that he’s still in his room, wait for Plagg to fizzle out the camera by the window with his kwami magic, and transform.  
  
And then he’s leaping out of the window, scaling walls and running across rooftops and pole-vaulting across alleys, laughing delightedly at the prospect of being free for the next few hours. Tonight it’s drizzling, raindrops falling on his black suit like a transparent version of the polka dots that pattern Ladybug’s.  
  
In the back of his mind he hears Plagg grumble about the weather, and normally he would argue with him, because despite the wet and the chill Keith adores the rain—but he’s just spotted a flash of red and black around the corner of the chimney on the next rooftop, and at the sight of it all words tumble out of his head.  
  
He grins and jumps onto the top of the chimney, perfectly silent.  
  
“Hi there, sharpshooter,” he says.  
  
Ladybug doesn’t even flinch, but Keith can’t be bothered to be disappointed about not being able to startle him, not when the alternative is Ladybug knowing him so well he knows when he’s arrived, even though his landing made no noise at all.  
  
He turns and squints up at Keith through the rain.  
  
“You’re in a good mood,” he remarks.   
  
“It’s raining,” Keith says.  
  
“That’s fair,” Ladybug concedes. He jerks his head towards the next rooftop. “Let’s go, we shouldn’t put off making our rounds.”  
  
Keith nods and together they jump to the next rooftop. For the next hour patrol is fairly quiet, interrupted only by one of them occasionally pointing something out to the other.  
  
(“Is that a butterfly-themed café?” Ladybug asks incredulously, peering at the sign above the door.  
  
“I think so,” Keith says. He lands neatly on the rain-slicked cobblestones and walks up to the darkened windows, pressing his nose to the glass to see inside better. “Yeah, it definitely is. All the tables are shaped like butterflies.”  
  
“What the fuck,” Ladybug says, snickering. “Why would you open a butterfly-themed café in a city terrorized by a butterfly-themed supervillain?”  
  
“Maybe it’s Hawkmoth’s café,” Keith says, stepping back from the window and looking up at Ladybug, who’s still on the roof. He puts on his best customer service voice. “Today’s special is the Akuma Surprise.”  
  
Ladybug snickers again. “Oh, you ordered the World Domination cappuccino? That’ll be two miraculouses, please.”)  
  
They help a man whose umbrella blew into a tree and escort home a grandmother who’d gone out for groceries before the rain started and was too scared to walk home alone in the dark drizzle, but they don’t spot anything suspicious or any akumas. After they’ve made their rounds they come across a rooftop café. It’s closed, but the tables and large umbrellas are still in place, so they sit down to watch the rain.  
  
Usually Ladybug talks during the downtime on their patrols, talks so much that Keith is amazed that he still is no closer to figuring out who Ladybug is. It’s not for lack of trying; he’s collected every hint he can find, every single fact, though it’s hard to draw any conclusions in his head. He’d tried writing them down to see if looking at everything at once would help him determine who he is, but the page had been wiped clean right away.  
  
“Kwami magic,” Plagg had said, in response to Keith’s frustrated growl. “Even if you looked at him straight in the eyes you wouldn’t know it’s him. The magic won’t let you recognize him without his consent.”  
  
_Straight in the eyes_. Keith thinks he’d recognize Ladybug if he looked him straight in the eyes, no matter how hard the kwami magic worked. Even if the magic prevented him from knowing he’s Ladybug, surely it couldn’t prevent the way Keith’s stomach tugs, or the way his heart thuds, or the way his breath catches.  
  
He looks over at Ladybug. His eyes are closed, and they’re sitting close enough that Keith can see how long his lashes are, see the raindrops clinging to them, raindrops that slide down the line of his jaw, down his long neck.  
  
Keith feels his face heat. He looks down at his hands and clenches them in his lap. He doesn’t know when this—distraction—or crush—or whatever it is—started, but he needs it to stop. He can’t risk ruining months of partnership, can’t risk ruining their successful streak of defeating akumas because he’s too busy staring at Ladybug’s hands, smooth and warm, and Ladybug’s hair, curling softly over his neck, and Ladybug’s eyes, bright and brown and—  
  
—and looking right at him.  
  
“Why are you staring?” Ladybug asks. “Is there something on my face?” He rubs at his cheek, wrinkling his nose. “I fell asleep really early last night so I didn’t get to do my skincare regimen before bed and I’m like, two hundred percent certain I’m gonna break out.”  
  
“You look fine,” Keith says. He already knows that Ladybug cares a lot about skincare, but he files it away anyway, along with _three older siblings_ and _hates chemistry_ and _has an accent_. “I was just thinking.”  
  
“Sorry I’ve been so quiet,” Ladybug says. “It’s been kind of a long day.” He hunches his shoulders. “Though I guess maybe you’d appreciate a break from all my talking.”  
  
Keith frowns. Hunched-shoulders Ladybug is insecure Ladybug, and getting rid of Ladybug’s insecurities is as important as getting rid of his debilitating whatever-the-hell-these-feelings-are on Ladybug.  
  
“I like hearing you talk,” he says firmly, then, more hesitantly, “It’s—it’s my favorite part of patrols.”  
  
Ladybug blinks at him.  
  
“Cause—I don’t really—” Keith stops, starts over. “I don’t have many friends and it’s nice to hear someone talk.”  
  
Ladybug’s mouth twists, self-deprecating. “So I’m just your only option for company?”  
  
“No!” Keith blurts, panicked. “No, not at all, I meant—” He blows out a breath, annoyed with his ineloquence. “I meant that I—I like hearing you talk. I always do. Cause you’re my friend. My—” He falters, then says in a rush, “My best friend.”  
  
Ladybug’s mouth untwists.  
  
“You’re my best friend too,” he says, and his voice sounds—different—softer than his usual voice, and deeper, and it makes Keith’s heart skip a beat, because even in the dark he can see Ladybug’s eyes glittering, and it occurs to him that they’re sitting really close to each other, much closer than they need to to stay protected from the rain, so close he can see Ladybug’s freckles—his _freckles_ , how is he this close—and they’re getting—closer—so close that looking into Ladybug’s eyes is making Keith’s face heat again—but he can’t stop—because he feels frozen—but he knows he’s not frozen, because he’s leaning, and Ladybug is leaning, and Keith’s heart is hammering, and without meaning to he closes his eyes, because suddenly he can’t bear to meet Ladybug’s gaze, not when his nose brushes Ladybug’s, not when Ladybug’s long fingers are slow and delicate on his cheek, his jaw, his chin, like they can’t decide where to land, not when their lips are—  
  
Thunder rumbles, so loud they both jump. Keith opens his eyes and realizes he’s clutching Ladybug’s shoulder; he lets go, embarrassing shooting through him, and scoots his chair away. He glances at Ladybug; his ears are red.  
  
Ladybug clears his throat. “We should—” His voice cracks; he pulls at one of his earrings, which Keith knows is a sign he’s nervous. “Um—we should probably head home. Don’t wanna get caught in the storm.”  
  
“Yeah,” Keith agrees automatically. He gets up, desperate to get out of here before he does something dumb, like plop down in Ladybug’s lap and fist his hands in the front of his suit and kiss him until he can’t breathe. “I’ll see you day after tomorrow, then. Unless there’s an akuma.”  
  
Ladybug nods. Keith mutters a quick _bye_ and vaults off the rooftop.   
  
He takes the long way home, despite the storm; he’s in no hurry to be trapped in that stupid mansion again, and he needs to work off the lingering buzz of the—moment? impulse? whatever the hell was that was—  
  
( _kiss_ , his mind supplies helpfully, _an almost-kiss_ , and he fumbles his next landing)  
  
( _shut up_ , he snaps, and vaults off the rooftop with angry intensity)  
  
By the time he makes it back through the window he’s worked off some of his adrenaline. He detransforms, closes the window so the rain won’t ruin the floor, and pulls out some cheese from the minifridge for Plagg, who takes the morsel with a raised eyebrow.  
  
“I’ve never seen anyone so upset about kissing the guy they like,” he says, popping the cheese into his mouth.  
  
“I didn’t kiss him,” Keith says, flopping onto his bed and scowling at him. “And it doesn’t matter that I like him, cause he doesn’t like me. Not like that.”  
  
“He just tried to kiss you,” Plagg points out. “I’m pretty sure he likes you.”  
  
Somehow the thought of Ladybug liking him back is more terrifying than Ladybug _not_ liking him back.   
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Keith says again. Maybe lying to himself would work. “I don’t even—I might not even actually like him like that. I’m probably just making it up.”  
  
Plagg floats over and lands on the pillow, next to Keith’s ear. “Sure, kid,” he says, curling up and yawning. “You keep telling yourself that.”  
  
After a couple minutes his snoring fills the room. Keith lies awake, staring out of the window at the storm. He pictures Ladybug jumping through a window, detransforming into someone vaguely Ladybug shaped, tall and long-limbed and broad-shouldered, with brown skin and brown hair and brown eyes and red earrings, with a house full of three older siblings that he loves and a backpack full of chemistry homework that he hates.  
  
He thinks of whoever made Ladybug feel bad for talking too much, and he wants to punch that person; he thinks of his nose brushing Ladybug’s, of Ladybug’s fingers on his cheek, and he wants to punch himself for being so stupid. It was probably just an impulse of the moment; there’s no way Ladybug could ever like him like that, not when Ladybug is so strong and cheerful and kind and Keith is so—not—and Keith just has to get over it, has to get over this distraction, this crush, this love—  
  
Love?  
  
His eyes widen.  
  
“Fuck,” he says. He sits up; his heart is going too fast again. “Fuck, _fuck_ —”  
  
This isn’t just a distraction or just a crush. He loves Ladybug. He’s _in love_ with Ladybug.  
  
“I love you,” he says aloud, testing out the sound, how the syllables fit in his mouth. He expects it to be nerve-wracking, but it comes out gentle, the awe in his voice evident.  
  
To his left he hears Plagg stir.  
  
“Love you too, kid,” he mumbles.  
  
“Not—” Keith breaks off with a huff and rubs the top of Plagg’s head. Plagg purrs and resumes snoring. Keith lies back down, taking a deep breath.  
  
He loves Ladybug. He has no idea who the fuck he is, has no idea what his name is or where he lives, but he loves him.  
  
“Great,” Keith says dryly, low enough to not disturb Plagg again. “This should go well.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! tumblr and twitter are both @laallomri, feel free to come talk


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